


Addicted

by KageSora



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, Depression, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageSora/pseuds/KageSora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drugs and alcohol and cigarettes aren't the only self-destructive things you can find yourself addicted to.</p>
<p>Marinette's, for example, is to the blade and the pain that it brings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I keep seeing these with Adrien, and I decided to explore it a bit with Marinette. I... Don't know exactly what I was hoping for in doing this, I really don't. I suppose it's a ventfic, a coping mechanism of sorts. I don't know. Whatever I hoped for I didn't get, but maybe somebody else can relate to this and benefit somehow anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> **If you are considering or actively engaging in self-injurious behavior, seeking aid from a trained professional is advised.** Trust me, it can help. I've been there. I'm getting help again because I need it. You're not alone, and you'll get through it, but seeing help is important.

 

Marinette didn’t know why she did it, really.  She honestly didn’t.  And, in the end, that simply made things worse.

She had, after all, been doing quite a bit better.  She hadn’t had thoughts of such things in many, many months--and had acted on them last some time before becoming Ladybug.  And, honestly, being Ladybug had helped immensely.

She was given another outlet for her feelings, a way to burn off excess nervous energy at times.

Things had been going well.  Her nerves around Adrien were lessening and a friendship was forming there quite nicely, recent akuma attacks had been handled flawlessly with herself and Chat working as a perfect team.  Her grades were improving, and she’d gotten better at juggling her life and was even managing to be on time to class more often.

Besides that, over the years she’d learned to handle intrusive thoughts.  Everybody had them at times, of course.  But when you weren’t exactly the poster child for sound mental health they were a bit more of a problem.

People didn’t generally assume it about her, though.  No, Marinette was good at hiding it.  At forcing herself to function on a level people considered normal.  Tikki, though, knew.  Knew the way that, some days, the dark-haired girl pleaded illness when she wasn’t simply because the effort of rising from her bed was too great.  Knew that sometimes food scarcely passed her lips because the will to eat was gone.  That sleeping the better part of a day didn’t help remove the exhaustion deep in her bones.

Tikki knew the look she would get, alone in her room late at night when her breath would come in short pants, curled up in a ball in her bed as dread flooded every nerve of her body, as scenario after scenario of everything being stripped away and crumbling around her ran endlessly through her head.

Tikki also knew, though, of the strength she had.  Reminded her of it every time she wrenched herself free of the grip of anxiety, headed off a panic attack before it could begin in earnest, forced herself out of bed and to eat when the depression told her it was of no use to do either.

And that was why Marinette was uncertain as she looked at the slowly beading drops of crimson against her skin, the lines drawn in it raised slightly along the edges.

She had no reason for this, had not for so long now.

And yet the thought had entered her mind.  The desire, the longing.  She knew, rationally, that this was foolish.  That this served no purpose.  For a time this had allowed her to push the intrusive thoughts aside.

But for some reason this night had been different.  Rather than being able to continue to brush them away until they left the desire grew.  Picturing it in her mind, remembering from the past.  A craving overwhelming her until she couldn’t resist.  A desperate _need_  somewhere deep within her to feel the sting of a blade, the sensation of flesh parting.  The rush of energy that came with the pain, the way the red would well up and drip down slowly especially if mingled with water.

And she had.  It hadn’t taken much effort--merely breaking a small shaving razor exposed the blade quite easily.

It was exactly as she remembered--a sharp sensation, a prickle of pain but not overwhelming.  The slowly appearing line of blood and the small drops that oozed up.

After she hadn’t known what to do.  The cuts weren’t deep--they never had been.  But the desire was sated, leaving behind only confusion and frustration in it’s wake.

Tikki had comforted her--the little Kwami having seen this before in others of her Chosen long past.  Words weren’t offered, but gentle strokes to her hair were given and worked all the same.

It had been easy enough to pass off the injury, really.

It hurt, though.  How readily believed the story of it being simply another injury obtained through clumsiness was.  And yet, she knew that this was why she wasn’t more concerned about the bandaging being spotted--she ran into things and knocked things over often enough that people didn’t question it.

And, some nights or a week or two (time was something she had found was hard to track these days--did something happen last week?  The day before?  A year ago?  It wasn’t always easy to recall) later...

The desire was back.  She resisted at first, and succeeded for a few days.

But the need returned, stronger than before.

And she gave in.

Watching the patterns of red trace across her skin, the faint sting and burning following the blade as it moved was mesmerizing.

And, somehow, she knew.  This wouldn’t be the last time.  There was something addicting to the pain.  Not to any pain, but to the pain caused by one’s own hand and will.  The level of pain not unbearable but not negligible.  Even if the after care was frustrating to ensure infection was avoided and questions weren’t asked that couldn’t be deflected or answered with a lie.

It was a terrible addiction, she knew.  It was self-destructive.  And, one day, it would catch up to her.  Scars, after all, aren’t always easy to hide.

But the strange need and the odd comfort of the blade were in her once again, and she didn’t know how to leave them behind.

Marinette didn’t even know if she wanted to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: More graphic descriptions of self-injury than the past chapter. Plenty of talk of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to continue. But sometimes there are thoughts that can only be expressed through writing.

In her mind, Marinette knew this was wrong.  That this did nothing good, that she really needed some kind of help.

But there was an enticing draw to the act of causing harm to oneself, a strange and twisted fascination with the willing mutilation of one’s own body.

It was something she couldn’t talk to anyone about--not even Tikki, though the spirit was no stranger to the ways in which humankind would handle their problems, both good and bad.

There was an allure to it, to the act and the observation of what was done, something that was like the most tantalizing drug even as the shame washed the euphoria away once it was done.

But that fascination was what drew her to the blade again, and again.  To trace lines across her flesh and to watch as crimson seeped out.

The pain was half the fun, of course.

But nothing could compare to the artistic nature of the act.

The way the skin would part, the blood welling up and creeping out over the edges of the wound.  She found great interest in watching as she drew the blade through the same cut a second, then a third time.  The way her skin parted, the wound widening with each draw of the blade as it sliced through another few layers of skin.  The skin would pull apart until not only was the cut deep, but it was wider than any others.  Watching as it parted was mesmerizing, her breath catching and the pain forgotten.

Watching as the blood came forth, the contrast of the brilliant liquid against her pale skin breathtaking in it’s own right.  And, even more enticing was the way that it looked when a cut was made under water.

The way the blood would flow, but would rest upon the surface of the skin and a little bit in the water, suspended there.  The soft movements of it with the currents around it, the way gravity would slowly take to work and it would create a beautiful red splash down the skin as it was drawn towards the earth.

The pain was good, but this?  This was pure bliss.

And that was why no one could ever know, why she couldn’t speak to the one soul that knew what she did.  Because nobody could understand the twisted pleasure the pain and destruction brought to her, if they didn’t experience it themselves.

And so she buried her secret, the blade hidden, the wounds on parts of the body that were concealed, easily explained away if the must be by her clumsiness.

But always that thought hovered in the back of her mind, the memory of the act, and the faint desire for more.

And Marinette was past the point of fighting it.

Now, she embraced it.

Even as it destroyed her she would continue her addiction to the blade, even as Tikki watched with growing concern and tried to talk her into getting help, she held tight to the memories of blood and pain, to the memory of the taste of it upon her tongue, of the glint of bloody metal when the blade left her skin.

And after, she prayed that the memories would be enough to sate the need when next it took her.


End file.
